


Hot and Cold

by DovK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, In Which Air Conditioning Is An Unrelenting Bitch, Post-Sburb, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovK/pseuds/DovK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A New York girl can't be expected to deal with the heat, and a desert-dweller seeks refuge from the cold. Two short ficlets for fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You enjoy watching her suffer -- not for the suffering, of course.

Air conditioning demonstrates an unhealthy attitude towards the living beings it protects: they become inured to its presence, learn to depend on it, and then it fails magnificently right as it is needed most. Rose has absolutely no doubts about this theory. Air conditioning is a malevolent entity (patently), and should be dealt with (accordingly.) A valiant knight has been summoned to do battle with the machine in the backyard, but alas, the battle is somewhat protracted, and meanwhile, a Seer suffers.

To look at her face, no one could notice that her mind is busy writing the Grimoire entry for the person who invented air conditioning. Her mouth hangs open, just a bit, enough that her tongue can be seen dancing on the tip of her teeth as she forms words under her breath; droplets of sweat wrenched from pale skin trickle down her face. Her bare chest rises and falls slowly, deliberately, every lungful of scorching air handled with a sense of determination, a knowledge that every gasp is necessary no matter how unbearable it feels. She sits on the sofa like her body wishes for corpsehood: arms splayed out just so, head tilted back, eyes glazed.

None of this is escaping the attention of the other woman in this inferno, who has no such hang-up about heat. She thrived in the desert. She is used to the light and the fire, and has an intense interest in watching the way sweat rides over cheek and drips onto collarbones. There is no way that her companion’s tongue could move that she could miss or ignore, and she knows this as a fact, as she has seen them all (and experienced most). This sadist’s body is draped across a chair, keeping her head in just the right spot to watch the sufferer’s breasts shift with each breath. Her eyes trace over the long, pallid legs stretched out towards her. This joy in watching someone’s agony could be mistaken, by an impartial observer, for schadenfreude, but it is merely base voyeurism. (To be fair, a torturer could also feel this slow stir of blood from watching a captive cling to consciousness.)

But this cruel observer has done enough watching for now.

A pair of bare feet find the ground, and she pads over to her human captive. Rose’s eyes slither in their sockets, focus on the impossibly-active alien, watch her antagonist kneel down between her legs.

“Kanaya.” The name is merely mouthed, not vocalized. Speaking would be entirely too much to bear.

Ashen hands find slick white skin, run along a graceful jawline. There have been moments where these fingertips alone have drawn Rose forward to a kiss, moments where both parties were entirely conscious and not focused on survival. Now, Rose does not react quite so severely, but to those experienced in the interpretation of snarky broad body language the underlying thoughts are quite the same. The Seer’s breath stalls for a moment as delicate fingers find the edge of her skirt, as a hand slips behind her head.

Kanaya’s mouth is curving into a smile, and Rose is no longer thinking about the heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a lot more written, but I decided it was better without the dirty bits.
> 
> Inspired by and definitely not based on the song "Hot and Cold" by Basement Jaxx, which is one of those songs that describes this relationship in my mind.


	2. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My flight was cancelled," she said, flush from the cold, and in just that moment, you knew what would happen.

You lay on top of her, feeling her chest rise and fall beneath your own, and let your eyes drift unfocused around the apartment. The snow falling past the streetlight casts shadows around the room that move and twist over wine glasses and discarded clothing, and the sodium yellow glow from outside lights the bare form of your… you suppose ‘lover’ would be an accurate term, at this point.

 _A cancelled flight,_ you would say to her were she awake, _was a very poor excuse._

She would grin, focused on the feel of your weight pressing down on her, the heat of your body soaking into her. She would say something like _I Cannot Be Blamed For The Closure Of The Airport And You Are The Only Person I Know In Town That I Could Stay With_ – never mind, of course, that hotels exist, and that paying for a room is A Thing That People Can Do. This doesn’t need to be spoken: it is a lie of omission convenient for both parties. She did this because she, like you, knew the way of things:

She knew that you two were alike, linked, in a way hard to describe but so very clear to feel. She knew that you were perhaps a little too eager for her attention; stayed up too late to talk to her, called her a little too often for your interest to be purely platonic. She knew that you would never take the first step; she knew that you wanted this more than you could express, but would never have believed it possible, never felt yourself quite worthy of her in some stupid insecure way. She knew that you had wanted her for longer than you would ever be comfortable to admit, and knew that it would be upon her to take this most momentous step.

Likewise, you knew this moment would come from the instant she knocked on your door, nearly midnight. You knew it was her, knew she would ask to stay the night, knew you would call off work tomorrow and stay up ‘til dawn drinking and telling her everything you’d ever felt towards her. You knew that you would find the look of her clothing lovely, and you knew you would make some intentionally-asinine comment about it looking better on your floor. You knew you would share a look with her, and a wordless understanding would be reached. You knew perfectly well that you would end up in here on the couch, at four in the morning, an ornament atop an alien girl.

Your eyes shut, and your breath slows, matching hers perfectly. Predestination and prescience have led you here; your old, reliable companions, following you since first you were born, piloting you to a moment you were never sure of. They have guided the course of your life, shaped it and set you adrift upon it, and you have never known what their grand design might be. Now, you are fairly certain – and cannot blame them for their meddling.

As you drift to asleep, the snow falls on outside, the grey city covered by a blanket of white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not happy with this, but it's overdue, and I've just been spinning my wheels on it.
> 
> Written entirely to Olson by Boards of Canada, on infinite loop.


	3. Wet and Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torture, by any other name, is equally wonderful.

The alien leans forward, and a tongue slides along Rose’s collarbone, so wonderfully cool that she shivers, thrills into the sensation. The sadist finds the taste of sweat on flushed skin exquisite, returns her lips to the pale skin of her captive, leaves black lipstick marks pressed onto Rose’s chest. These dark wounds trail down from collarbone to breast, where they perfectly mask the areolae, charcoal on pink – but this is insufficient for the Seer and the sadist alike.

Kanaya’s nails tear the thin skirt easily enough. She will have to repair it, but that is a price well worth paying. What she has unveiled – her Seer, clad in nothing but her ubiquitous headband – still manages to make her stare, moreso now that the body in front of her glistens and sparkles and shivers with unsteady breath.

She does not stare for long, eyes alone incapable of enacting her will upon her prisoner. Teeth her lover deserves, and teeth her lover gets, fangs only just avoiding sinking through skin to the hot blood Kanaya can feel surging with her every touch. Even Rose is spurred to action, and Kanaya hears the faintest gasp over the silence in the room, just a hiss. In just one sound, the captive has assented to her treatment, and it is the captor’s burden to carry out the task.

There is no heat more intense than the one Kanaya aims for, finds, (knows perfectly from experience). The Seer’s legs raise, hook over Kanaya’s shoulders, ankles cross behind her patron’s back.  The maneuvers from here are well-practiced, rehearsed; both know their roles, and execute them perfectly. Forked tongue and hands grasping dark hair, names whispered or breathed into stale, humid air; eyes losing focus, gods dark and light called for and cursed in equal measure, expletives from two worlds issued in urgent gasps. No mercy is begged for, nor would any be given.

There is a click as cold air floods the room from the vents and a choked noise from Rose’s throat as she reaches her peak. She stiffens, twists just a bit to the side, squeezes her eyes shut. It is very much a subdued act.  Kanaya watches this performance closely; she has seen this many times before, but she never tires of it. She stays where she is, feeling muscles tighten and watching goosebumps rise as conditioned air washes over Rose.

The headband has fallen to the floor, and Kanaya retrieves it, placing it atop the head of her Seer, brushing back hair plastered to damp skin. No thanks need to be given; the Seer merely breathes, cold air twisting down into her lungs, and the Sylph is content to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Husk has been going through some rough stuff, and as a show of support (and thanks for the patronage) I've dug out an unpublished ending to Hot. Here's to you!


End file.
